Falling Fast

Chandler falls for women too fast and too hard. He has always known this, even though he rarely admits it himself. It never fails, in every relationship, he starts out like a white-hot ball of emotion, becomes too intense, and then burns out. Like his own version of Icarus, he flies too close to the object of his desire and everything falls apart. He blurts out those three little words way to soon, and then watches as the woman he said them to recoils from him, and then everything he thought was there between them turns to dust.

If he had the ability to do an honest self-evaluation, he would realize that his fear of rejection and his history of terrible break-ups, had sent him on this self-destructive path for most of his life. He would reject women for the slightest perceived imperfection just so that he would not have to experience their repudiation of his advances. Have it all end before it even began; spare himself from reliving the pain of a lesson he learned years ago as a child when his father had abandoned him. He was unwanted.

Yet, even at his most vigilant to keep his heart under lock and key, he still had moments where he jumped in feet first with reckless abandon. It happened with Janice when she came back into his life. He fell in love with her while chatting with her online long before he even saw her face or knew who she was. He threw caution to the wind and dove headfirst into a relationship with her and he was ready to commit. He was still nervous and awkward and everything that he hated about himself; but he was in love. He thought she was too. When she decided to leave him and try to save her marriage, he folded up like a lawn chair. He was certain that he gave her the best version of himself, and it wasn't enough. He was never enough.

That pain was nothing compared to Kathy. At least with Janice, he could fall back on all those grating idiosyncrasies of hers to remind him of why he couldn't stand her in the first place. But Kathy was perfect. She was like the kind of girl that only a roomful of lonely men could dream up. She was funny, sexy, and smart. She liked old movies and sports. She could drink beer with the guys during the day and dress up for an evening out on the town. All it took was one night watching an Ernie Kovacs special together and he was head over heels. She was all he could think about. She possessed his mind and his soul until she finally possessed his body too. And he was happy; truly happy. Until he did what he always does, and he squeezed too tightly and let it all slip out of his hands. If he folded after Janice, then he completely crumbled after Kathy. He swore he would never let himself be that vulnerable again.

And yet, here he was, riding in the back of a cab on the way to the hospital, and he could feel himself becoming smitten all over again. All the signs were there. He could sense the tingling in his stomach, the goosebumps on his arms and the flush of color on his skin. He turned to look over at Monica and she smiled at him and her eyes sparkled and her nose crinkled and that was it. He might as well have surrendered to her on the spot. She had him. It hadn't even been two full weeks since they fell into bed together, and he could feel himself falling into this. He thought he could keep his cool and be casual about it. That it was no big deal. Friends hook up all the time. But he knew that was a lie. He knew this was different the moment he stood outside her door the day they returned from London. This wasn't some one-night fling. He could feel himself already becoming attached to her. He could already feel himself needing to be with her.

He watched her as she looked out the window, a smile still plastered on her face. It wasn't any different than any other smile she had flashed him over the years, but now, after London, that smile killed him. It made his heart pound and his knees wobbly. He needed that smile. His survival depended on it. It was like oxygen to him now.

He wanted to believe it was just an irrational reaction he was having thanks to all the sex; and there has been a lot of sex. More sex than he could ever remember having before. The kind of wild sex that had her dragging him into her apartment for a quickie on the kitchen table less than a half-hour ago. He had never had it like this. The sense of urgency and total desire. The hunger that needed to be satiated immediately. Yes. The sex was amazing, but deep down, he knew it was more than that.

Everything about her made him feel better. The way she looked at him, like being with him was the only thing happening in her world. How her hands felt on his arm when they were just sitting around the coffee house. How her voice soothed him late at night when she spoke to him softly. How her lips tasted. The way her crystal blue eyes shined like diamonds. The way her face crinkled up when she smiled. How she walked towards him with infectious confidence and conviction, making him feel like he was a different man, capable of different things. How her hair bounced around her shoulders when she would laugh at one of his jokes. Maybe all of this was always there, and he was simply too blind to see it. But he sees it now, and it has him in a freefall.

He couldn't compare this to the other women he has known. This was different. He knew that the moment she crashed her lips on his in his hotel room. Even though he had told himself that it was different each time he had felt like this about the dozen or so other women he either dated or had some unrequited crush on; this was really different. This was Monica. A woman who knew every dirty detail about who he was. And there she sat, after initiating a quick sexual encounter that he still feels like he is recovering from, and she was smiling at him. It was as if she were the one who was giddy at what was happening between them when anyone who had a pair of eyes could see that he was the lucky one. That's why, in this moment, with her hand reaching out for his as they continue driving towards the hospital, he simply could not imagine being with any other woman. It's her. She's it for him. He's already there, slipping down that dangerous slope.

All week, all he could think about was being with her, and it wasn't always about sex. Like the other night, when everyone was at her apartment, ruining their plans to be alone, he was content just to sit there next to her. She would let loose with a gentle sigh and she stretched her legs out over his. He placed his hand on her knee and gently rubbed the inside of her leg with his thumb. And even though everyone else was there, time stood still, and he felt as if they were the only two people in the room.

He let his fingers intertwine with hers as they sat in the back of the cab and he gave her a smile. Her eyes lit up and she looked as if she were about to giggle or blush and he felt this enveloping warmth flow through his body from deep in his chest and couldn't understand how this was happening. How, despite all his efforts, he was doing it all over again.

He might not be feeling this trepidation if he knew what she was thinking behind those gorgeous eyes. Is there something going on in there that is more than just someone having a good time? It has to be; this is Monica. Everything is calculated with her, especially when it comes to stuff like this. He knew her attempt at being friends with benefits with Richard soured her on the idea that casual sex between friends could work and he could not even remember the last time she had a one-night stand. At least not one that she told anyone in the group about.

What was this? What was he supposed to say? How is he supposed to react when she squeezes his hand and pulls it into her lap so she can hold it tightly in her own. How was he supposed to let her know that just her fingers running up and down his arm sent him to the moon? This could not just be about amazing sex. What was he supposed to do?

He was so bad at this part. The part where you're supposed to anticipate what the other person was thinking and feeling. It filled him with such anxiety during those first few weeks with Janice and made him act like an idiot. It blinded him with jealousy when he was seeing Kathy and he almost lost one of his best friends because over it. Now, here was his other best friend, his first real best friend, sitting beside him and grinning ear-to-ear as she held his hand and all he could think was that he could not let himself do what he always does and squeeze her too tightly and risk losing her. He could not lose her as a lover. He could not lose her as a friend.

But he also could not stop himself from feeling the way he did. He could not stop himself from falling too fast like he always does. He knew that the only way for him to navigate these treacherous waters was to act normal, be casual, be nonchalant. Talk a lot, make jokes, do whatever he had to do to distract himself from everything he was feeling and thinking about, because Chandler knew, that overthinking his relationships with women has always been his downfall. He could not let that happen here. This wasn't Janice, who he could convince himself he loved out of desperation. This wasn't Kathy, who he got over by dismissing his feelings as mere infatuation. This was Monica. Their history could never be rewritten. She could never be forgotten. She has been a part of everything good that has ever happened to him for most of his adult life. She was not just some girl. And over these last two weeks, she was everything.

If only he knew what she was thinking. Then maybe, everything would be okay.

"I like your hands. They're soft and pretty."

Chandler briefly made eye contact with the cab driver and saw him smirk as he overheard Monica's emasculating compliment.

"What do you mean? My hands aren't soft. I have manly hands!"

"No, you don't. Your hands don't have any rough spots or dry patches. My hands have so many little imperfections from working in a kitchen. You have hands that feel brand new. I love how they feel on my skin."

Chandler visibly gulped and then allowed a roguish smile to form on his lips. "Well, we could probably turn around and go back home if you want to feel them on you again. Hell, I could do that right now."

"No. Maybe after Phoebe has the babies. We're late enough as it is."

"What? With everything going on? No one will even notice."

"I would notice."

"Of course, you'd notice. You're Monica."

Monica shot him a playfully stern look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Chandler stammered a bit, but then regrouped and smiled at her. "Uh, just that you're one of a kind?"

"Aww, that's sweet. I know you're just trying to save your own skin, but I don't care. I'll take it." Monica leaned up against him and placed her hand on his thigh. "You know, that was really incredible back there. I think my legs are still shaking."

"What? The sex on the table or me helping you clean up the floor after Phoebe's water broke."

"I do find a man with a mop very sexy."

"You are a very strange woman."

Monica playfully pinched Chandler on his side.

"Hey. Don't bruise the merchandise."

"Maybe we can leave before everyone else does and try to get another one in before they get back."

Chandler allowed a salacious smile to spread across his lips. "Ooo. Maybe you can find one of those sexy nurse outfits and bring one home."

The cab slowed down and Monica looked out the window to gesture at the hospital. "I don't think they have those in there."

Chandler frowned as he bobbed his head side-to-side. "Well, maybe we can continue what we started when we get back."

"I wouldn't say no to waxing the floor." Monica laughed and bumped her shoulder into Chandler to punctuate her joke.

"I was thinking more along the lines of us having sex on the table at my place."

Monica wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "You don't have a table."

"Yeah I do."

"Are you talking about the foosball table?"

"Yeah."

"Oh no. All those little wooden men poking me in the back, no. You get a proper table, and I'll do it on that."

"You're no fun."

Monica gestured back down the street behind the cab. "That wasn't fun back there?"

Chandler shrugged his shoulders and tried to suppress a smile. "It was okay."

"Well, what about this?"

Monica leaned over Chandler and pressed her body against him as she crashed her lips onto his. One of her hands ran down his thigh as she dug her fingers into him. With her other hand, she traced circles through his hair and then softly brought it down to his ear. She let her fingers play about his earlobe as she swung one of her legs over his lap and began to grind her body against his. She allowed her tongue to explore his mouth and she moaned quietly as they kissed. She pulled back and took a deep, heavy breath, allowing her hungry eyes to search his, rendering him speechless. She slowly pulled herself up and off of him and then slid over to her side of the cab.

"I'll meet you outside."

Chandler watched her as she exited the taxi and then melted back into his seat. He was completely aroused. His tried to stuff his shirt back into his pants and mat down his disheveled hair. He was breathing hard and had half a mind to grab her, drag her back into the cab, and go back home.

"Hey, pretty hands. That'll be 15.50."

Chandler looked up and saw the cab driver glance over his shoulder at him with a smirk. He shook his head as he tried to regain his focus. He reached into his pocket and handed the driver a crumpled twenty before stepping outside. He took a deep breath and looked over to see Monica doing her best to stifle a laugh at the mess she had left him in. She gave him one more smile before looking down and turning towards the entrance of the hospital.

"Come on. We're really late."

He followed her inside, watching her move with each hurried step, completely hypnotized by her. He knew it was too soon to have it this bad, but in this moment, he didn't care.